


narcissus in a red dress

by mad_magic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Dancing, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Pining, Porn with Feelings, This Is All Flirting and Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-17 15:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_magic/pseuds/mad_magic
Summary: Bellamy takes her glass with his free hand and sets it on the counter. Clarke’s brows knit together, but she goes with him as Bellamy leads them away from the bar.“Let’s go dance,” he mutters.“Really?” He can hear the excitement in Clarke’s voice.Bellamy smirks at her over his shoulder. “Whatever the Princess wants.”...6.04 canon divergence.





	narcissus in a red dress

**Author's Note:**

> Hey bellarke fam! I'm super excited to post this oneshot. 
> 
> It's an alternate canon to 6.04 in a way, if the partying had lasted a little longer before the prime possessions and Becho broke up after their fight. Basically this was my excuse to write more of Clarke in pretty dresses and Bellamy dancing with her this time. 
> 
> The title is from Narcissus in a Red Dress by The Like. Totally inspired by the fandom's "bellarke as narcissus" theory which I will never let go of. Never. 
> 
> Enjoy <3

 

* * *

 

He can’t take his eyes off of her.

There are dozens of other bodies in the room, the close press of his friends crowded around the table, Raven’s laughter in his ears, Murphy leaning against his side, heavier the more he drinks. The dance floor is a sea of rocking bodies, but he only sees Clarke.

She twirls like she’s standing under her own spotlight, the pulsing lights glinting off her hair and her bright smile. Bellamy has never seen Clarke smile like _this_ —radiant, uninhibited, like she’s finally managed to shake the world’s burdens off her shoulders.

How can he _not_ stare? The sight of her is so captivating it’s holding him in place. He doesn’t want to miss a second of Clarke dancing, smiling freely. Rarer to see than a shooting star and twice as beautiful.

 _I wouldn’t even know what to wish for,_ his voice echoes in the back of his mind. Then, he didn’t. But now, the answer is right in front of him.

Bellamy would wish for Clarke to stay this happy. Safe and carefree. That is what he wants for her, even if he can’t be because of him.

Murphy’s voice drawls into his ear. “Who knew the Princess had moves?”

Bellamy pretends to be disgusted as he shrugs Murphy off his shoulder, distancing himself from the strong stench of alcohol. He says nothing as he takes a sip of his own drink. Still on his second beer.

They both watch Clarke get spun a few times by Jordan, her red dress fanning out around her. The bane of his existence, _that_ red dress. Bellamy thought the blue dress she wore weeks ago was bad enough—he’s still haunted by it how it clung to her body—but that was before he saw Clarke in this color with red lips to match.

He almost made a complete fool of himself earlier that night. Clarke gave him enough odd looks to tell Bellamy he was gawking a little too much at her painted mouth.

Murphy knocks into his good knee under the table. “Are you gonna stare at her all night like a fucking creep? Instead of, I don’t know, _dancing_ with her?”

Bellamy scoffs at that immediately. “I’m not dancing.”

Murphy smirks, amused that he didn’t deny staring at Clarke. Why bother? His friend knows how he feels. He suspects all of them do, to an extent. He wasn’t the subtlest during his grief on the Ring. He mourned Clarke Griffin like a widow, a best friend, and a partner. Because she was all those things to him.

“Who cares if you look like an idiot?” Murphy presses, shouting over the loud music. “I bet Clarke won’t.”

Bellamy tears his eyes away long enough to scowl at him. “Are you playing matchmaker now, Murphy?”

Murphy eyes him slyly over his cup as he drowns the rest of his drink. “Maybe I’m sick of your sulking. Your martyr act is tired as shit, man. Should have left it back on Earth.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he demands.

Murphy flings out a hand to gesture at him. “I mean, this. The longing looks. Acting like a kicked puppy, pining for his unrequited love. It’s bullshit. Stop torturing yourself. You’re not doing anybody any favors.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Bellamy growls, even if something in Murphy’s words strikes a raw chord within him.

Damn Murphy. He has a way of knowing which buttons to push with bluntness and painful accuracy.

Before he can press further at a wound that is better off left alone, Bellamy sharply adds, “Just drop it. Clarke doesn’t feel that way about me.”

He’s been down this road before. Too many times in 131 years. Bellamy knows where it leads. He has no doubts left about how _important_ he is to Clarke, not after hearing it from her own lips. He helps her survive, gives her hope, just like she does for him. They need each other. They’re family.

But that’s where the line ends. Clarke doesn’t _want_ him like he’s wanted her. It’s always been someone else she trusts her heart or her body with. Sometimes both. Finn. Lexa. Niylah. Bellamy doesn’t resent her for it. The heart wants what it wants and it’s never been him.

“For fuck’s sake.” Murphy throws back his head to groan. “Yes, she does, Bellamy! Look, I wouldn’t say it if wasn’t true. Clarke Griffin is ass-backward in love with you! _You_ are the only one that can’t see that!”

Bellamy grits his teeth. “Murphy—”

“Don’t argue with me!” He snaps. “Just _listen_ , you stubborn prick.”

Bellamy shuts his mouth in surprise at the conviction burning in Murphy’s blue eyes. He isn’t just being a pain in the ass. He has something to say and damn everything else, he’ll _make_ Bellamy listen.

Murphy’s lips quirk once he actually shuts up. “Good. Look, I get how cliché this is gonna sound, but hear me out. Life is short. You and Clarke got a second chance. Do you get how rare that is? She came back from _death_ and the world ending. Speaking as someone with a recent death experience, you’re screwing it up, Bellamy!”

He flinches, turning his eyes down to his clenched fists. Bellamy doesn’t need a reminder. He still has nightmares of drowning Murphy in the lake, finding his floating corpse under his hands. Of Clarke on fire on a burning planet while he watches from space, trapped behind a window.

“Clarke isn’t gonna wait around forever,” Murphy continues pointedly. “She already waited 6 years for you. If you don’t have that figured out yet, pull your head outta your ass, Blake. Before one of these Sanctum freaks steals her away.”

He jerks his head to the side, back to the dance floor. Bellamy follows his direction to where Clarke is dancing with a beautiful, brunette girl. She’s smiling as the other girl slides against her, like an animal marking its prey.

Watching them, Bellamy feels the same storm rumble in his gut as he did seeing Clarke and the doctor weeks ago. A storm of conflicting emotions, none of which he had the _right_ to feel. The certainty that they were going to leave together, sneak off to be alone. It felt like watching a collision before his eyes. Inevitable. There was nothing he could do about it.

He tried to be happy for her then. Really, he did. Clarke deserved to let herself go, to be lavished with attention, to be taken care of. A part of him rejoiced for her when she got all of that, while the rest of his heart ached that it was not because of him.

“Do whatever you want, Bellamy.” Murphy’s voice draws him back. He lets Emori tug him up from the table. “I’m gonna go dance with _my_ woman!”

Bellamy watches them go, joining Jackson, Miller, Jordan, and Delilah on the dance floor. That leaves him alone at the table, while at the far other end Raven and Echo are huddled close together, talking. Neither of them pays him any mind.

Raven has been firmly on Echo’s side since their break-up. She hasn’t spoken to Bellamy much, but he can feel the cutting edge of her silence. The judgmental glances out of the corner of her eye. Like Raven is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Bellamy knows what she’s waiting for. She looks at him and sees Finn. Raven is wrong, but he doesn’t feel any less deserving of her scorn. It validates his guilt at being the man that loves two different, amazing women. In very different ways.

He turns away from them and pushes himself up from the table. He isn’t finished with his beer, but he heads for the bar just to give himself something to do. His eyes stray back to the dancing for, searching for her. Only he can’t find Clarke anywhere.

In the center of the floor, Jordan dips Delilah at the waist, much to her delight. Murphy and Emori are kissing in each other’s arms, lost to the rest of the world. Bellamy even spots the brunette girl, dancing with someone else now. But no Clarke.

Did she leave with someone? Just as his thoughts start to race ahead of him, he feels a brush at his elbow. Bellamy turns and there Clarke is, leaning against the bar.

She flashes a smile at him. Her blonde hair sticks to her forehead, dampened by sweat. “Hey. I think you still owe me a drink, you know.”

He should laugh or joke back with her. But Bellamy loses control of himself for a moment. He doesn’t know what possesses him. He reaches out, gently prying the hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear.

Clarke’s eyes flutter at his touch. In an instant, he’s transported back to Becca’s lab on the day of Praimfaya. He’s grazing the side of Clarke’s damp face. _So is cold sweat._

She doesn’t seem to mind the touch now, just like she didn’t then. Her eyes open slowly and drag up to his in the same way. His skin prickles all over, like fires have been lit in each vein. His fingertips tingled to reach out for her, cup her face, feel her cool skin.

 _No,_ he tells himself _. No_.

Bellamy shoves his hand in his pocket, clears his throat. “What are you drinking?”

Clarke seems dazed for several seconds. He worries for her dilated pupils until she gives him another smile, this one smaller. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

She doesn’t like beer. He remembers that. Bellamy orders them one of Sanctum’s concoctions—whiskey mixed with lemon juice. She’ll like the sour taste.

Bellamy hands her the drink, waiting for her reaction at the first sip.

He loves her expression, whenever she tries something new and it pleasantly surprises her. “Oh!” she gasps. “This is really good!”

Bellamy grins. “Thought you’d like it.”

They nurse their whiskey sours as quiet falls in between them. As quiet as it can be with the music still pounding in the air. Back at the table, Bellamy felt suffocated by the silence from part of his family, missing Monty and Harper, the keen absence of Octavia.

With Clarke, however, it feels like everything does with her. Easy. Comfortable. As natural and refreshing as taking air into his lungs.

Bellamy’s eyes are drawn back to her inescapably. Clarke is leaning back against the bar top now, a small smile resting on her lips as she takes in the room. The flashing lights flicker in colorful patterns over her skin.

Much more skin than he’s using to seeing on her. God damn it. That dress.

It is decidedly worse than the blue one. This dress has a deep V that grants a generous glimpse of her cleavage. Bellamy is using all of his will power not to let his eyes drop in that area. The rest isn’t much better. The dress is long, floor length, but it comes with a slit nearly up to her hip, leaving her leg entirely exposed.

She’s _killing_ him.  

“Having fun?”

Clarke’s voice startles him. She smirks over the rim of her glass and Bellamy’s heart stops. Had she caught him staring?

Bellamy clears his throat again, relieved when his voice comes out steady. “Yeah, I am.”

“Liar,” Clarke retorts. She’s laughing at him. “You hate these sort of things.”

He ducks his head, hiding a sheepish smile. “Okay, it’s not my idea of a good time. But it’s preferable to battle strategy and fighting for survival.”

She nods. “That it is.” Her eyes linger on the side of his face as Bellamy swallows the last of his drink. “You know what might make it fun?”

Bellamy arches his brow at her. “What’s that?”

He should be warned by the playful gleam in her eye. “Dance with me.”

A snort escapes him. “Nice try, Clarke.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on! It’s better than sitting on the sidelines and moping all night.”

Her words make his pulse stutter again. Bellamy didn’t think she noticed where he was tonight, too preoccupied with the dance floor. “Moping?”

Regret flashes through her eyes briefly. Clarke frowns, looking apologetic. “Sorry. Miller told me about you and Echo.”

“Oh.” Muscles he hadn’t realized were tensed suddenly unclench. She isn’t talking about him pathetically pining for _her_. Just his break-up.

Bellamy rubs at the back of his neck. This isn’t something he wants to discuss with her, either. “Yeah. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

Her hand finds his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m really sorry, Bellamy. Are you okay?”

He has to look away. The concern in her gaze is too much. As effortless as it is with Clarke sometimes, there are also times like this. Where looking at her—really seeing her—is a lot like staring straight into the sun. Too much. Blinding in its intensity.

Consequently, that is also the reason he broke up with Echo. Because he felt more in these simple moments with Clarke, more understood by her, than most of his relationship with Echo. The intimacy was lacking where he needed it most and that became impossible to ignore when Clarke was here, so perfectly in tune with him.

“Yeah. I, uh, rather not get into it. Not right now.”

He can feel Clarke still studying him, worried, but she nods and lets it go.

She tries to slip her hand away, but Bellamy holds on, keeping their fingers interlocked. He meets her eyes, finding a question in hers. His heart is racing too quick for him to catch his breath.

Murphy’s wise words replay in his mind. He doesn’t want to waste any more time. Clarke may not feel the same way he does, but she’s here, inviting him to join her instead of strangers on the dance floor. And Bellamy will be the one she's giving that radiant smile to this time.

How can he say no to that?

Bellamy takes her glass with his free hand and sets it on the counter. Clarke’s brows knit together, but she goes with him as Bellamy leads them away from the bar.

“Let’s go dance,” he mutters.

“Really?” He can hear the excitement in Clarke’s voice.

Bellamy smirks at her over his shoulder. “Whatever the Princess wants.”

The nickname feels right rolling off his tongue again. He doesn’t look back to catch Clarke’s reaction to it. Instead, Bellamy goes forward, charging into the crowd of swaying bodies.

People part to make room for them on the floor. As Bellamy stops and turns back to Clarke, he sees Murphy over her shoulder. He gives him a smirk of approval that Bellamy ignores. His friend is insufferable enough without reinforcement.

Bellamy has no idea what to do with himself. For the handful of parties he’s been to in his life, he’s always stuck to alcohol and steered clear of any dancing. He feels out of his element, standing still among the motion around him.

Clarke smiles up at him like she actually finds him amusing instead of ridiculous. She doesn’t say a word as she starts to move, finding her rhythm easily. She tosses her head and swivels her hips to the fast, hypnotic tempo of the music.

She winds around him, trailing her fingers across his chest. Bellamy watches her, drawn back into her orbit. He’d follow her anywhere—including the middle of a dance floor, apparently. Once he stops overthinking it, it isn’t hard to follow her lead here too.

Clarke takes his hand, urging him to spin her around. He spins her outward, mesmerized as her dress fans out with her. Then he brings her back in and lets her land softly against his chest.

Clarke tilts her head back against his shoulder to look up at him. Her blue eyes glimmer, lit up by happiness.

“You’re different,” Bellamy murmurs, low under the swell of music. At her confused glance, he elaborates. “Happiness looks good on you.”

Clarke lowers her eyes, self-conscious at the compliment. This is the girl he is more familiar with. She deserves to wear her joy without guilt or shame. Seeing her so carefree, Bellamy thinks she had the right idea in adopting Sanctum’s customs to make amends.

She twirls away from him and Bellamy lets her go, content just to watch her. He always knew Clarke Griffin burned too brightly to be dimmed by his shadows.

He does little else but sway in place, trying to keep up with the pulsing rhythm. Then the music changes, shifting to a slower, sensual beat. All around them, people are pairing up and drawing closer together, front to back or hips flushed against hips like the beginnings of a foreign mating ritual.

It’s been a long time since Bellamy felt this awkward. Less than sure of himself. The feeling is as alien as the planet they first landed on.

He expects Clarke to make a face and suggest they get some fresh air away from the lovebirds on the dance floor. But when their eyes lock, Clarke only tilts her head. A coy smile plays on her lips. He can read that look. She is game to stay if he is.

Bellamy has never been one to back down from a challenge, same as his co-leader. He nods his chin at the dare she’s thrown down, beckoning her to come closer.

She steps into his space, winding her arms around his neck. Not much different from other times they’ve embraced, or so Bellamy tells himself. He lets his hands rest on her waist and ignores the way her proximity makes his body hum.

Bellamy can almost taste the charge in the air, see the electricity that crackles between their bodies. The crowd around them disappears and it’s just him and Clarke, locked inside a stalemate. Waiting for the other to break away and snap the tension that is coiled around them. They always have before, but this time is different. They are both letting it simmer.

He can feel the heat coursing under his skin. His eyes drop to her red lips, parted slightly open. A wild thought crosses his mind. What would she do if he kissed her right now?

 _Recoil_ is his first thought. He can’t. She would pull away from him, that’s what she’d do. Probably look at him in confusion and horror. Hasn’t Clarke made herself clear in the past? _You’re my family…_

But what about this new Clarke? Who’s to say what she would do? Maybe she’d let him kiss her, pull her even closer, touch her soft, cool skin…

 _And be a rebound for Echo?_ No. He’d never do that to her. He doesn’t want her as a fling, a one-night-stand like the doctor. Clarke is so much more than that.

They’re finally in a good place again. He has his best friend back, alive and whole. Bellamy isn’t going to ruin that over stupid desire. Head over heart. He can control himself.

Only when Bellamy manages to drag his eyes up from her tempting mouth, Clarke is watching him through half-lidded eyes.

She leans in to speak into his ear. “See something you like, Blake?”

Her smile is teasing when she glances up at him, but no less flirty. She’s waiting for his response. And once Bellamy convinces himself he’s not dreaming, he’s ready to tease her back.  

“Actually no,” he says, smirking at the flash of surprise on her face. “I hate this dress, Princess.”

Clarke recovers quickly. She matches his smirk. “Do you? That’s a shame. Because I wore it for _you_.”

His eyes widen. Bellamy resists the urge to ask Clarke what kind of game she’s playing with him. He _knows_ Clarke. He understands the boundaries of their friendship just as well as she does. She wouldn’t say those things to him if she didn’t mean them.

Bellamy turns his eyes away, breaking their heated stare. It would so easy to fall into this. Too easy. But if Clarke is looking for another fun lay, she’s going to have to find it elsewhere.

Her fingers touching his cheek startles him. Clarke turns his face back to hers. “The Bellamy Blake has nothing to say?”

He gives her a half-smile. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Disappointment flares in her eyes. That isn’t what she wanted to hear from him. Bellamy _is_ sorry to see it. He hates to upset her. “Bellamy…”

Gently, he pulls her arms from around his neck and steps back. “Thanks for the dance, Princess. But I’m gonna call it a night.”

He pushes through the grinding couples in his path to escape the dance floor. Clarke will get over her disappointment. She’ll find someone else to spend the night with easily. And tomorrow morning, Bellamy will put a smile on his face as he asks her about it. Ignore his stomach’s churning to be a good friend.

He’s approaching the stairs when he hears her voice behind him. “Bellamy!”

She’s there when he whirls around, chasing after him. “Clarke? What are you doing?”

“Let’s go to my room,” she says softly. “We can talk there.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “We can talk tomorrow if you want. Go back to the party. I’m tired. I’m going to head to bed.” _And that’s not an invitation._

Her earlier joy is dimmed, replaced by a familiar frown and crease between her brows. “Forget about the party. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to be alone right now, Bellamy. I know…” she hesitates. “I know leaving Octavia is haunting you.”

He sucks in a breath. They’re definitely not talking about that now. “Clarke—”

“And now with Echo…” she trails off, grimacing before her eyes bore into his. “I’m still here for you. Whatever you need, Bellamy.”

_And what if I need you?_

He shakes those thoughts away immediately. As tempting as the idea is to bury himself in Clarke, in her comfort, that isn’t fair to her or them. He won’t weight down her newfound freedom. Won’t risk screwing up their equilibrium for anything.

“I know.” Bellamy smiles. “I’m okay, really.”

She studies him a long moment before nodding. But she wouldn’t be Clarke if she left it well enough alone. “Then what happened out there? You froze on me.” When he stays quiet, she asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

There’s genuine fear on her face like she’s crossed some line between them. He almost forgot that Clarke shares his same fears about losing him, what they are to each other.

“No,” he says quickly. He decides to go with the truth. No more lies or deceptions between them. “I just can’t _be_ what you’re looking for right now, Clarke.”

Bellamy hopes she can understand that. It’s all him. He is flattered that she would even consider it, but he can’t. One time would never be enough. And she’s right that his heart is too beaten down right now to take another hit.

“What I’m looking for?” Clarke repeats. “And what is that exactly?”

God, is she being purposefully dense? Trying to humiliate him and make him say it? _I can’t take being a casual fuck because I am pathetically in love with you?_

“The doctor,” he says pointedly.

She grasps his meaning after a moment. Embarrassment passes over her face before her expression shutters, closes down. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” Bellamy challenges.

Then why has she been flirting with him all night? Clarke isn’t cruel. She wouldn’t toy with his emotions if she knew how he felt. It’s up to him to draw the lines back where they belong.

Her on one side, him on the other. Platonic. Familial. Safe.

Clarke steps closer to him until he can smell her perfume and the sweat coating her skin. Her red mouth is set in a determined frown. “No,” she says firmly. “He meant nothing to me—”

Bellamy winces. She doesn’t owe him an explanation.

She continues, ignoring his attempt to interrupt. “Not like you. You’re right, Bellamy. I _am_ different. I’m not taking anyone for granted. But I’m not letting the past hold me captive either. I know what I want.”

The blaze in her bright blue eyes is stunning. Her intensity never fails to mesmerize him. How is she even real? He has meant so many people in his life, friends and enemies and brief allies, but no one is like Clarke Griffin.

Bellamy’s voice is strained, still trying to find his breath. “And what do you want?”

“You,” she whispers.

He is too dazed to speak again. Clarke’s lips curve upward as she takes his hand, giving him a gentle tug to follow her. He lets her lead them up the staircase.

He doesn’t ask where she’s taking them. He knows in the fluttering of his stomach, the quickening of his pulse. He feels giddy and crazed all at once, half-convinced this is some kind of trick orchestrated by Sanctum to fuck with his mind. 

Once they enter the hallway where their private rooms are located, the noise from the raging party downstairs lessens. All Bellamy can hear is the clack of Clarke’s heels and his own pounding heartbeat. She slides in her room key to grant them entrance and the door shuts behind them with a quiet click. His whole body is thrumming, ready to burst out of his skin. They’re finally alone. _Holy shit, this is really happening._

Clarke glances up from under her lashes, biting the corner of her lip. He can’t help himself anymore. Now that that door is open, he’s bursting through it.

Bellamy nudges her back against the nearest wall and sweeps down to claim her mouth. Clarke opens up for him like she’s been waiting for him too. _Six years waiting._

His tongue dips in and his hands tremble where they’re holding Clarke’s face tenderly. She meets him half-way and a moan splits between them as their tongues brush together. He kisses her slowly, languidly, savoring the taste and feel of Clarke’s mouth moving beneath his own.

Clarke lets him at first, but when it’s her turn to have control, Bellamy is left gasping at her passion. Her kisses are as fierce and intense as she is. Her small fingers sink into his curls and pull to get him closer. She arches into him, saying with her body that she is _his_ to take.

It unleashes something in him, something he thought was long dormant. Raw and primal, a tidal wave of emotions that are set to knock down everything in their way. His heart breaks free from the cage he locked it inside six years ago, for their survival. For his own sanity.

Bellamy lets out a groan as he kisses Clarke harder, slamming her against the wall. She doesn’t complain, doesn’t stop clinging to him. He’s already hard and doubtless she can feel his erection with how fused they are. Desire pounds in his blood. Bellamy grasps her leg through the slit in her dress to hitch around his hip. Clarke moans, pressing firmer against his hard cock in his pants. Her sounds, her touch, are all hurtling him closer to losing control.

Clarke breaks their hot, bruising kiss to breathe, “Tear it off, Bell.”

She means the dress. Bellamy grins wickedly. “Is that why you wore it, Princess? So I could rip it off you.”

“Yes,” she says, blunt. “I hoped you would.”

His fingers make eager work of the strings holding the dress together. Once they’re loosened, Bellamy reluctantly steps back to let her shimmy out of the red gown.

“Fuck,” Bellamy murmurs under his breath.

She’s not wearing a bra. Clarke stands before him almost completely naked, save for a pair of black lace panties.

Bellamy’s eyes greedily take in her full breasts, the curves of her waist, and bare legs. Honestly, he’s pictured Clarke like this more than he can ever admit, but no fantasy can measure up to her. The real Clarke Griffin.

Clarke laughs softly at his awed expression. She reaches for the lapels of his jacket. “Come here.”

Bellamy lets her undress him, his jacket and dress shirt falling to the floor. Impatience itches under his skin to get his hands on her. He yanks at her hips once his shirt is off, needing to feel her bare chest against his own.

Clarke moans softly, echoing his pleasure. She feels so good, warm breasts pressed into him, her nipples hardened into tight peaks. They kiss hungrily for another minute, too starved for each other to stay away.

Then Bellamy tucks his arms under her legs to lifts Clarke into a bridal-carry. He carries her across the room and lays her down on the queen-sized bed. Clarke smiles up at him as he crawls in after her, apparently as amused by this as she was by his so-called dancing.

She undoes the buckle on his pants and helps him out of them. He pushes his boxers to the floor as well, freeing his erection. Bellamy delights in Clarke’s expression, her dark gaze caught by his full, hard cock. She runs her eyes over his body and the molten desire in them makes Bellamy shiver.

Clarke Griffin is looking at him like she wants to eat him alive. She’ll get her turn, he thinks, once he’s done devouring her.

He peels the black lace off her legs at last and she doesn’t say a word when his breath catches, admiring her exposed cunt. She’s perfect. Every inch of her. From the moles on her skin to the scars that won't ever fade. They're a testament to everything she has survived, a match to his own.

Clarke parts her legs for him, inviting Bellamy in between them. He loses himself for a moment, at the sight of her pink, glistening folds before his eyes. She’s wet for _him_. His cock twitches at the fact.

“Bell,” she urges when he just stares. “Get over here. Kiss me.”

“Bossy,” he teases. She huffs, making him smile. “Just wait,” Bellamy murmurs, his thumb stroking her naked thigh.

Clarke arches a wry brow. “Haven’t we waited long enough for this?”

Sometimes, it feels like he’s been waiting his whole life for her. Several lifetimes, actually. For a moment like this, where the timing is right and their hearts are in complete agreement.

They’re both waited so long, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean Bellamy is going to _rush_ this. No, he’s going to take his time. Cherish every second of having Clarke underneath him. Learn her body from scratch and all the way to bring her pleasure. 

But first, he just wants to look at her for a minute. Laid out on the bed, cheeks pink, blonde hair spread out around her. Her gorgeous tits heave with every breath. The lights streaming in from the large window beside her bed turn her skin into silk and moonlight. 

“You’re beautiful, Clarke,” Bellamy murmurs.

Clarke says nothing, her eyes dropping away from his, down to his chest. That’s fine. She’s never been the type to fish for compliments or pay attention to her looks. There were more important things to focus on, but that doesn’t make her any less deserving of praise.

Finally, he crawls in between her legs and places a soft kiss on her hip. She shudders as he makes a path of wet kisses down her inner thigh, his beard grazing her most sensitive areas. He presses his face into her cunt to inhale her.

“Bellamy,” she gasps.

“I’ve got you, Princess,” he says before taking his first taste of her.

A full lick up her slit. His tongue nudges her clit, feeling Clarke’s thighs shake around him in anticipation. He flicks the sensitive nub rapidly, just a tease, before kissing her cunt. She gets wetter and wetter, his mouth and chin drenched with it.

Using two fingers, he spreads her open and laps at her in heavy strokes with the flat of his tongue. Above him, Clarke mewls and cries. He draws her clit into his mouth and sucks on it, earning him a shouted  _oh, fuck_ from her. It spurs Bellamy on harder. He pops her clit in and out his mouth, alternating between swirling with his tongue and sucking. 

Soon her thighs start to tense up and Bellamy releases the nub before she can come too quickly.

His eyes flick up and find Clarke panting, her lips twisted into a pleasured grimace. She has her hands on her tits, pinching and rolling her hard nipples. Her legs are spread for him. It's the hottest thing he's ever seen. 

Bellamy dives back into her cunt, determined to finish her off. He resumes his licking and pulling at her clit with his lips. Her hips rock toward his face, chasing her pleasure. He pushes two fingers inside her and curls them in time with his mouth’s motions, filling the room with the chorus of Clarke’s gorgeous moans.

Bellamy pushes back a grin. He prides himself at being good at going down on girls and loving every second of it. The fact that it’s Clarke he gets to pleasure makes it even better.

Arousal burns hotter in his gut listening to her. He feels Clarke’s hands bury themselves in his hair. “Bell,” she rasps.

He pauses to glance up, meeting her glazed eyes. “Yeah, babe?”

“Fuck me with your tongue,” she asks almost shyly. “Please.”

He’d never deny her, especially not in that husky voice that sounds even sexier when she’s turned on.

Parting her folds again, Bellamy lowers his mouth to her cunt. His tongue circles her entrance before slipping inside. He keeps his face pressed close to her, his nose nudging her clit as his tongue licks in a steady pattern.

“Mmm,” Bellamy moans against her. “You taste so good, Princess.”

Clarke writhes under the vibrations his words cause. Her fingers tighten in his curls. “Fuck, don’t stop!”

He doesn’t break the rhythm he has going and hears Clarke’s breathing hitch. She’s getting close. Practically riding his face, her hips grinding against his mouth. Her moans get louder and gasping until her orgasm pulls the air from her lungs.

“Bellamy!” Her cries fall silent, breathless.

Her cunt pulses around his tongue, legs shaking from the force of her climax. Clarke grips his head so tight he can’t even move, not that he’s really complaining. Her back arches off the bed and then she falls back, releasing him.

Bellamy sits up on his knees, wiping her slickness from his face. She’s the one floating in an afterglow, but he feels like he’s on cloud nine, having just made Clarke come on his tongue.

Clarke eyes open as she comes down. He can spot the tremble still in her legs. It doesn’t stop her from kicking at him.

“Don’t look smug.”

Bellamy laughs. “Sorry. Can’t help it.”

She glares weakly at him. Her eyes are too bright to be convincing. “Make yourself useful and find a condom.”

Any more teasing comments die in his throat. His stomach is fluttering again and Bellamy tries to contain himself while reaching for his dress pants on the floor. Thankfully, he actually listened to Murphy’s stupid insistence that he have condoms with him at all times. “Because you never know,” he said.

He tears the packet open and rolls it on himself with a few unhurried jerks. Clarke climbs onto his lap and kisses him. Their kisses are lazy, deep, just the way Bellamy likes to get lost in another person.

Clarke pushes him back-first against the headboard, straddling his waist. “Is Her Highness going to be on top?” He taunts.

She smirks as she leans over him, her blonde hair framing her face. “You think you can handle that, Blake?”

Bellamy grins and lightly squeezes her thighs. “Let’s find out.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever smiled this much in bed before. It’s hard not to be giddy when the woman he’s in love with is straddling him and laying kisses on his bare chest. But he’s glad that he can still have his best friend like this too.

Clarke’s kisses make it down to his navel before he tugs her back up. He wants to enjoy her mouth on his cock, but not tonight. There’ll be time for that.

She’s still dripping wet when Bellamy reaches between her legs and runs his thumb across her swollen clit. His fingers are nearly sucked back into her heat. He can’t wait for a second longer to be inside her.

Clarke drapes her arms on his shoulders and nods to give Bellamy the go-ahead. “Such a princess,” he mutters under his breath, lips quirked in a smile.

Bellamy takes his length into his palm, rubbing her cunt to get himself slick in her juices. She’s so wet from her recent orgasm, he sinks inside her without much resistance. Her walls embrace him inch by inch, beautifully tight.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy hisses between his teeth, “you feel amazing.”

She bites her lip once she takes all of his cock. Her expression is born of aching completion. Full of him.

Bellamy gazes up at her in wonder. Her blue eyes meet his and they share a look that shakes him at his core. This must be what it feels like to be made whole.

Clarke leans in closer, resting her forehead on his. Their breaths mingle in the quiet. There is no party downstairs, no Sanctum, no universe outside these walls. Just him and her and this connection, unlike anything he’s ever known.

She combs her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. It seems like both need a moment. Bellamy’s never felt closer to her, physically, emotionally. He wants to stop time with his bare hands, so they can stay here forever.

 _I love you._ The words dangle on the edge of his tongue. _Always._

Clarke’s lips brush his. “ _Bellamy_.”

His name. It’s all she says, but the emotion layered in her voice pierces him. For a beat, the possibility appears in front of him, a glimpse of a shooting star across the night sky. _You love me, too._

She starts to move, shifting her hips to ride his cock. Slowly at first. Her brows draw together as she concentrates, adjusting to his girth, searching for the right angle.

He waits for her to find it, resting his hands on her waist. Bellamy thrusts to her rhythm and catches up to her pace, falling in sync with her as effortlessly as they do everything else. Together.

She’s gorgeous on top of him, her head tilted back and lips parted, grinding herself back and forth. Her tits bounce in front of him and Bellamy slides his hands up from her waist to cup them, squeezing the perfect mounds.

Clarke’s eyes are open when he looks up, rolling in deep strokes on the length of his cock. Bellamy shifts to help her find her sweet spot. She moans when the tip of his cock hits the sensitive bundle of nerves dead on. He holds her stare, driving upward into her G-spot. Pleasure floods her face. Soon she is unable to keep her eyes open or stop the flow of noises falling from her lips.

“God, Bellamy,” she gasps, “Right there!”

“Yeah, Princess?” A smile pulls at his mouth. “That feels good?”

She nods fervently. “Harder?”

He is eager to oblige her. Bellamy bucks his hips upward harder, relentlessly hitting the spot that makes her moan. She’s going to come again soon. He can feel it in the way her thighs are squeezing around him, the quickening of her breaths.

He sneaks his hand to the place where they’re intimately joined and finds her clit, hot to the touch. His thumb presses on the nub in firm strokes to send her into her next orgasm.

“That’s it, babe,” Bellamy hums. “Come for me. Get yourself off on my cock.”

Her slick walls throb around him and clench down, stilling him inside her. Bellamy swears at the exquisite tightness. A loud cry breaks from Clarke, her body shuddering as her climax ripples through her. Her pleasure echoes off the walls.

Clarke’s palms land on his chest, nearly collapsing when she finishes. Bellamy smooths her sweat-dampened hair away from her face, his other hand caressing her back. He encourages her to lay on his chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

His length is still buried inside her, feeling the flutters of her aftershocks. Bellamy ignores every instinct yelling at him to _thrust_ when she’s recovering. He keeps his own orgasm at bay, not finished with her yet. 

After a minute soaking in silence, Clarke pushes herself up. He sees a glimpse of the smile softening her face, radiant, and then she’s kissing him.

She sucks on his bottom lip, sweeps her tongue into his mouth. She feels molten in his arms, boneless and sated. Her fingers curl through the ends of his hair and Bellamy swears he can taste her gratitude, her affection.

Slowly, he rolls them over, Clarke landing softly on her back. He pulls away from their kiss to ask quietly, “You good?”

Her thumb brushes his cheek. “I’m good.”

Bellamy takes that as his cue to move, in slow and careful strokes. His eyes are sharp on Clarke’s face, searching for any signs of discomfort from sensitivity.

Clarke looks back at him, nothing but warmth in her eyes. Her hair is a golden halo around her. Beautiful, unreal. Her hands roam his body, fingers skimming up his arms framing her, down the expanse of his back and muscles rippling with movements.

As his hips keep up their unhurried rocking, Bellamy kisses her neck. He discovers a sensitive spot that he nibbles at with his teeth. Time stretches out between them until it ceases to mean anything at all, ticking outside of their bubble.

Clarke whispers to him, her voice dripping like sweet honey on his skin. “I love the way you feel inside me, Bell. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Emotion gets choked up in his throat. “Me too, Princess.”

Her hands cup his face, tilting his chin up so they can see each other’s eyes. The intensity makes Bellamy tremble. He knows then that Clarke is making love to him, just like he’s been making love to her.

Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling them as close as possible. Her lush breasts slide against the plane of his chest. Bellamy takes her hands, their fingers laced, and pins them above Clarke’s head. The sight of their hands interlocked while he's inside her is unthinkably arousing. Memories flit through his mind, from the first time he grabbed her wrist at the dropship to when he held her hand before she entered the City of Light. 

He never thought they'd end up here. Hoped for it, of course. But their chance of survival was low even on the best of days. The rare instances where Bellamy looked at Clarke and thought  _maybe they could have this_ , those never lasted. The world seemed to conspire to keep them apart. It's a miracle they finally get the chance to express these feelings. 

“Did you think about _this_ ,” Bellamy says against her throat, “while you were on the Ground?”

“Every day,” Clarke answers, the words raw and honest.

Bellamy has to kiss her then. As if the force of his lips can chase away the memories of many lonely nights, waiting for him to come home.

“I did too,” he admits. “On the Ring. I thought about you every day, Clarke. I hated that we never got a chance to have this.”

She touches his lips, stopping the flow of words. “Let’s not think about that. We’re here now.”

She’s right, of course. But his heart still breaks open at all the time they spent apart. All the lost chances to feel her in his arms.

Her hips arch up to meet him, spurring his thrusts on. Bellamy gasps when Clarke clenches her inner muscles around his cock. She moves with him, stroking the fire that simmers in the midst of their coupling. Building the flames back up higher.

“Come, Bellamy,” Clarke murmurs. “I want you to come inside me.”

 _Fuck_. He wants that more than anything right now.

He’s starved out his orgasm long enough. He can’t hold it back any longer, not with Clarke’s cunt squeezing around him and her whispering low and hot to finish inside her.

His climax builds from his gut, surging through him in a sharp burst. Bellamy groans in relief, his face buried in Clarke’s neck as pleasure blazes his nerve endings. His cock spurts long and hard into the condom.

When he drifts back to reality, another century must have passed. Bellamy doesn’t want to move, ever, from the cradle of Clarke’s body.

He forces himself to untangle from her, her legs dropping from his waist. It feels like he loses a part of himself when has to pull out. Judging from Clarke's expression, she shares his feeling of profound loss. Bellamy brushes a kiss against Clarke’s temple in comfort before climbing out of bed to clean himself up.

Clarke waits for him in the middle of the bed, her head tucked against her pillow. She looks so soft and ethereal in the darkness, the light spilling in from the large window casting a glow on her skin. Her smile is just for him, a flare of light in the dark.

He curls in beside her, his arms sliding around the curve of her waist. Tiredness tugs at him, but Bellamy resists. He doesn’t want to sleep, to wake up in a new day where things will change. They always do.

“I’m in love with you,” Bellamy murmurs.

He hears Clarke’s sharp intake of breath. There’s a tense pause before she turns around and gapes at him, her eyes wide and stunned.

“Bellamy…”

“I had to say it,” he continues lowly. “I didn’t before. I always had these stupid excuses, but it’s bullshit. You deserve to know. I love you, Clarke.”

Tears well in her eyes. Her bottom lip starts to tremble.

His chest seizes up and Bellamy is terrified he just ruined everything. The longer the silence lingers, his panic mounts. She deserved to know that he cared, but maybe he should have kept _how much_ to himself.

Clarke closes her eyes, pulling in deep breaths. When she opens them, they’re apologetic and Bellamy feels his heart plummet.

“I was scared too,” she says. “I could only tell you the truth when you were out of the earth’s orbit.” A watery laugh escapes her. “I couldn’t risk losing you, Bellamy. The people that I’ve loved…they’ve suffered for it.”

He shakes his head immediately. “That wasn’t your fault. Your love doesn’t hurt people, Clarke. It’s saved Madi. It’s saved _me_ , so many times.”

Tears drip down her cheeks. The words may hurt, but Bellamy thinks she needs to hear them. Gently, he brushes them away.

“We’re still breathing, right?”

Clarke exhales slowly. She’s afraid, but he’s never seen that stop her before. “I love you too.”

Actually hearing her say the words is nothing short of electrifying. Bellamy can’t hold back the force of his grin. She loves him too. Every nerve in his body ignites with the knowledge that Clarke Griffin is in love with him.

Clarke laughs a bit shakily, wiping at her eyes. “Wow. That only took us about 131 years.”

Bellamy kisses her temple again, still smiling. “Worth waiting for, I promise.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Who else is dying about s6 so far? Our babies are killing me.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://www.kombellarke.tumblr.com)


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